


We Were Innocent Once, But That Was So Long Ago

by trinityrenee



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-14
Updated: 2014-01-14
Packaged: 2018-01-08 18:22:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1135935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trinityrenee/pseuds/trinityrenee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eight years ago, a girl left Westeros amidst war and coming destruction to go to Braavos and the House of Black and White.  Now, a young woman returns to the land of her birth to find herself and the source of the nightmares haunting her.  In those eight years, Dragons have replaced the Lions upon the Iron Throne, the White Walkers were destroyed, and the ends of the Last Winter have faded into the Spring Before the Longest Summer.  Winterfell still lies in ruins, haunted by its own ghosts and waiting for a Stark to claim it once more.  Only one soul can help a young woman find herself again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Were Innocent Once, But That Was So Long Ago

Deep within the bowels of the earth, up north beyond the icy remains of The Wall, a young boy had grown and developed into a young man. His legs were stunted from a fall taken at the top of an abandoned tower in his childhood home, but his torso was strong. The Children of the Forest, who still lingered down below the wastes of the very reaches of the north, had conjured up a wheeled chair for him to use so that Hodor no longer had to carry him everywhere.

Not that it mattered much. He spent far more time than he cared to admit inside the skin of his Direwolf companion, Summer. Despite the warnings of losing himself in the wolf-flesh, he continued to do it. There was nothing like the feeling of running on four legs with the wind combing through his fur, slaver dripping from his jaws, the blood of a kill and flesh ripping between his teeth.

He spent far too much time watching over his childhood home, as well. Through the faces of the weirwood trees, where the castle of Winterfell stood a broken husk of what it once was. The snows had been just as harsh to the ancient castle as Theon Greyjoy and his Ironmen had been eight years ago. But, finally, the Last Winter was coming to an end and the Longest Summer could begin. 

Spring had begun to melt the snows as the world warmed. Yet, there were still large drifts of snow hidden between the shadows of towers, rising higher than a man's head. Up north, it was still cold and it was just as much of a threat as the snow was. Though the war of the False Kings was over and the Dragon Queen sat upon the Iron Throne with her nephews at her side, no one had come to claim Winterfell.

In truth, it was a place most avoided. Stannis Baratheon had occupied it temporarily after defeating the Boltons and bringing the False Stark to heel, but he had not lingered long as he turned his army back toward the north, to fight against the White Walkers. The Dragon Queen had come to save them all, and had only caused more years of fighting between the entire realm.

But still, Winterfell had endured as much as it could given the circumstances to which it was laid bare before the world. While the soldiers had long-since marched back to their homes and the new Lords had taken their lands, Winterfell remained empty.

At five-and-ten, Bran Stark could have easily come from his hiding spot in the ground to lay his claim as rightful heir to Winterfell. But he had made his decision years ago when he first came to learn about the Three-eyed Crow and his link with Summer. He was too far gone to be able to rule a castle like a proper lord should.

While Sansa Stark still lived, she had gone to Kings Landing to wait out the last dredges of winter to remove themselves from the castle of Winterfell. Though, at the same time, it was unlikely she would return to her own childhood home. Having celebrated her twenty-first name day, she was a young woman who craved the warmth of summer, despite having the cool of winter flowing through her veins. It was likely she would go to marry the Lord of Highgarden, bringing the castle to heel and into the realm of influence of the Targaryen Dragons.

There was Rickon Stark, who was still wandering the wilds with Shaggydog. But he was half-wild and half-mad and it was a wonder that Osha had been able to keep him isolated for as long as she had. Rickon would not become a knight as he had dreamed when he was a young child of summer. He was nearly two-and-ten, but he was more lost to himself than Bran had become. There would be no claim from his end. It was better if the world knew him as dead.

Wind rustled the bare, bone-white branches of the weirwood trees that were the only inhabitants of Winterfell now. Bran could feel the slow, patient thoughts of the trees brush against his own consciousness, so alien and different from those of nature. He had made it a habit of checking on Winterfell as often as he could, to ensure there were no raiders or false Lords to come and claim his family's ancient home. There never were, of course. Rumors spread about how the castle was haunted by the ghosts of the little boys, the last Stark children, murdered in cold blood by Theon Greyjoy eight years past.

But there, just beyond the broken gates hanging upon the very last thread of their hinges, was a pair of shadowed figures, one shorter and much broader than the other, walking toward the ruined castle. It did not take long for the pair to reach the gates and cross the threshold into the castle yard where he and his brothers used to play at swords and the youngest Stark daughter would sneak away from her lessons with her Septa to join them.

As they got closer, Bran recognized them as an unnaturally large wolf and a tall young woman, wrapped up tight in a cloak that looked as though it was made for the more southern parts of Westeros, for it had no fur lining it to keep the wearer warm. Tossing back the hood of the cloak, shoulder-length mousy brown hair began to blow about in the wind, obscuring the traveler's round and soft face.

The pair, wolf and young woman, stepped deeper into the castle yard. Something shifted in the girl's face, the flesh rippling and changing. Squinting, pale blue eyes turned to steel grey, reshaping themselves to be large and round, framed by thick lashes. The angles of the woman's face sharpened, the extra flesh of her cheeks falling away as it became more vulpine. It held the dangerous, feminine beauty of a woman grown.

Her wolf companion, a Direwolf with a thick, tawny coat and a fierceness to her golden eyes. Somewhere in a deep, other part of his consciousness, Bran could sense Summer growing restless and giddy. The wolf's ears pricked forward, turning her massive head towards the direction of the Godswood, where the ancient weirwoods stood at attention. It smelled of home, of pack, and of family.

Something stirred within Bran's chest, a sort of tightening feeling that was a mixture of excitement and wariness. Arya Stark had disappeared years ago and no one had seen or heard from her since. The last he had seen her was before he had fallen from the tower, leaving him in a coma when his father and sisters left Winterfell for the south. He was stunned to see what she had grown into.

Something shifted on her face, an emotion she had been trying to keep down. A flicker of recognition flashed through her empty, wild eyes. Bran did not know what was going through his sister's mind, but as she wavered on her long legs and her Direwolf companion moved swiftly to catch her before she fell, he wondered about all that she had seen in the time since they were young and innocent.

Somewhere, the howls of the last remaining Stark wolves cut through the air, and a young man sleeping soundly at an inn woke with a start from his dream.

**Author's Note:**

> This is something I've had stuck in my head for the past few days after getting a sudden surge of feels for Arya and Gendry. It's taken me a bit to work out the beginnings of it and the vague details of where it is going, but hopefully you enjoy it and will enjoy where it is headed. I'm hoping to update this at least once every two weeks, if not once a week. I'm still trying to work out a bit of a schedule for myself, so things might be a bit scattered while I get myself into a routine and nice and settled into this. The title for this work is thanks to the song "Have We Lost" by Flyleaf.


End file.
